


The Warmest of Welcomes

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/M, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo’s family have always run The Warm Welcome pub and his mother always welcomed travellers there, a practice that stops after her death. Then one rainy night, two of the Durin travelling clan turn up on Bilbo's doorstep and Bilbo finds himself pulled into tales of home, family, and the most intriguing story of all – Thorin Oakenshield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

_The Warm Welcome_ had been in the Baggins family for years. It was, thought Bilbo, quite the most wonderful pub. He was biased of course, being the current landlord. But the fact was that he'd been to other taverns, checking out the competition and such, and none had warmed his heart or made the tension leech out of his body in the same way that _The Welcome_ did. It was simple enough, he used to confide when patrons asked, the Baggins family had always loved the tavern so the tavern had always obliged in reflecting that back.

 

Bilbo took pride in the pub, in its homely but neat appearance, in the fire always burning in the grate, in the variety of beers always on tap, in the delicious food cooked in the spacious kitchen, in the amount of people that often filled it. The only thing he felt particularly close to not-fond about was a strangely-marked brick that was part of the edging around the front door. The mark was a curved glyph, such pretty lines. Bilbo hadn't seen such a mark on any other building in Hobbiton.

 

According to his mother, Belladonna Baggins, it meant _Travellers Welcome_.

 

Belladonna had been extremely enthusiastic in her welcoming attitude, particularly towards travellers. Some in the village didn't take kindly to that, claiming that travellers were dirty and violent and to be feared, that they corrupted the young and took advantage of the old and left a terrible mess wherever they camped so they had to be moved on of course. Belladonna allowed any traveller she approved of to camp in the lovely field behind the pub for as long as they liked. Bilbo remembered seeing hotch-potch rows of caravans and cars, funny little trucks, bikes and horses. It had looked like a very strange and unpleasant tangle to his young eyes.

 

“They'll always pay, in their own way,” Belladonna had told her young son. “Never ask about money.”

 

Bilbo saw travellers pay back his mother's kindness by chopping logs, clipping her hedgerows, mending furniture, fixing pots and pans. Once a traveller family even laid out new gravel in the pub's driveway for her. Belladonna told them all to call again.

 

Truth be told, Bilbo had always been a bit frightened of travellers and had never understood his mother's fondness for them. They never wore particularly clean clothing, it was always very patched and worn, and some of them behaved loudly and raucously, unnerving him greatly. They lived loudly, according to his mother, and it was nothing to be afraid of, so long as you treated them as equals. Most travellers who visited the _Welcome_ certainly treated Belladonna with respect. Bilbo had seen several kiss her hand and compliment her husband on his fantastic wife. Bilbo's dad, Bungo, always laughed, and said they were just after more of her famous treacle tart. Bungo used to chat to the travellers as he worked alongside them, singing bits of their songs as they helped him heft casks into the cellar.

 

Some travellers couldn't be trusted. Belladonna noted down every clan that used her pub, with a mark to say if they were allowed back or not. She once threw out two traveller cousins she’d caught trying to break into the upstairs rooms. She'd chased them outside with her broom, using several colourful traveller phrases that had made Bilbo's hair stand on end. When she'd returned, she’d viciously written an emphatic 'no' next to their family name in her book.

 

After Bilbo's parents had died, the travellers had stopped coming to the pub. A few anonymous gifts had turned up at the pub – a couple of well-made baskets, some stylishly hand-carved corkscrews, and a very nice portrait of Belladonna herself, stood behind the _Welcome_ 's bar and looking rosy and happy as she poured a pint. Bilbo had hung the portrait over the mantle in the pub's main room, so that everybody could see it and enjoy her presence once more. He knew that he did, and he often heard the memory of her voice, piping up with the wisdom she’d had in life. It had been several years but Bilbo still missed her dreadfully.

 

The painting hung opposite a portrait of Bilbo's old friend Gandalf, wreathed by smoke rings as he sucked on his pipe outside the pub. Gandalf was the only traveller Bilbo saw these days, he turned up now and then for a drink and a meal, and a good chat by the fire. In the winter months, he brought homemade fireworks which he let off in the field outside for the locals to gasp at.

 

Truthfully, Gandalf was the only traveller that the other villagers liked to see. He was relatively harmless, saying a few odd things – a fact that Bilbo put down to the strange-smelling stuff that Gandalf smoked so often in that pipe of his – and his dress sense was odd to say the least, but he was marvellous with the children and never stayed long. Gandalf, Bilbo could handle, he just hoped that the tradition of travellers dropping in at the _Welcome_ had truly disappeared with the passing of his mother. The Tookish part of him loudly protested at this, telling him most severely that Belladonna Baggins would be outraged that the _Warm Welcome_ was no longer warmly welcoming travellers. Maybe that was why Bilbo hadn't yet replaced the stone by the door.

 

It was certainly something Loblia Sackville-Baggins intended on replacing, as she loudly proclaimed each time she visited. There were quite a few things that Bilbo's relatives intended on doing to the pub, the first of which was turning it into a high-end eatery if they could convince Bilbo to sell. Hobbiton was an exceptional beauty spot and attracted visitors all year round. Lobelia and her kin were very keen to take advantage and couldn't understand why their bachelor cousin was so adamant that the _Warm Welcome_ would be staying the _Warm Welcome_ for as long as he was alive. Just thinking about the Saville-Baggins getting their hands on his mother's best china made Bilbo grind his teeth. Whilst the Baggins part of him wanted to turn off the lights and pretend to be out whenever they called round, the Took part urged him to grasp the nearest broom and give chase.

 

“The Took part sounds most sensible to me,” Gandalf told him one day. “You've treaded softly around those relatives of yours for quite long enough.”

 

The traveller was stretched out contentedly in the sun by the front door, his wide-brimmed summer hat at a jaunty angle. Bilbo refilled his glass and took a puff of his own pipe. Gandalf was always saying things like that, like _you should make it known that you still welcome travellers, conditions are terrible in some parts of the country_ and _that back field looks terribly empty, you know. It's a real waste._ Gandalf had gotten on famously with Belladonna.

 

“Maybe you need a hand or two for this adventure of yours,” Gandalf said suddenly as he tottered to his feet.

 

“Adventure?” Bilbo looked up in sheer confusion, wondering if he'd inhaled some of Gandalf's smoke without noticing. He certainly didn't remember mentioning any adventure. The only kind he liked were the type found in books, thank you very much.

 

Gandalf looked at him in the same way that Bilbo's old science teacher had whenever Bilbo had gotten an answer dreadfully wrong. “If you think keeping this pub free of Sackville-Baggins is going to be anything less than an adventure, then I really do fear for you, young Baggins.”

 

Bilbo frowned as Gandalf ambled off down the road. He _had_ been getting more strongly-worded letters from those particular relations lately – three in the past month – and on a couple of occasions he'd thought he'd caught people looking around the pub in a covetous manner that had made his skin itch. It all made him feel decidedly Tookish and such thoughts occupied him throughout the day as he took orders, greeted regulars, and said goodbye to the staff as they left and he began locking up, the rain falling heavily outside. He was just considering sending a strongly-worded letter of his own to Lobelia when there was a terrific knocking at the door.

 

Bilbo jumped and glanced at the clock – why was anybody calling? Everybody knew that Bilbo shut up the pub promptly at eleven every night. He looked furtively towards the kitchen where he kept his mother's broom, but was startled from such Tookish impulses by another series of knocks at the door. It certainly sounded urgent, maybe somebody needed help?

 

Propelled by his recent dwelling in Tookishness, Bilbo hurried to the door and opened it a crack. Two young strangers stared back, huge smiles on their faces. They weren't dressed for such heavy weather – both wore battered jeans and vest tops under jackets, denim for one, leather for the other – and both had long hair plastered with rain. They certainly weren't from Hobbiton, Bilbo knew everybody in the village, but there was something familiar about them. Maybe it was the many silver rings they wore, or the worn backpacks, or the set of their expressions, or...oh.

 

Bilbo's heart sank; his nice clean frontdoor step was currently housing two travellers.

 

“Good evening,” he managed.

 

“Evening,” the blonde one said, far too cheery for a person so thoroughly soaked through. “Is there room here for two?”

 

“Only we were running an errand for the family and before we knew it, the heavens emptied and they'd moved on without us,” the dark-haired one chimed in. “We'd only stay 'til tomorrow.”

 

Bilbo shook his head for a second, as though trying to clear it, but no, there were still two young travellers stood there staring expectantly at him. Bilbo opened his mouth to say _so sorry, but we're completely full up. You'll have to go outside the village to find any room anywhere_ when there was a peal of thunder and the boys shifted closer together, looking more and more like drowned rats with every passing moment. And Bilbo's mother was making herself very clear in his head, saying that those poor boys shouldn't be left out in the rain where they could catch their death, and it would only be for one night after all.

 

He could look their family up in his mother's book, she'd never been wrong in it before. And Bilbo had always had a soft spot for the village youngsters. They often came calling for a spare slice of fruit pie and a few of Bilbo's stories. A large part of Bilbo was already itching to scold the travellers for being out so late and in such weather too. His nerves still jangled at the thought of travellers crossing his threshold, though such a feeling was overwhelmed by his bone-deep desire to get the boys in safe out of the cold when the thunder rumbled ominously again.

 

“A night would be manageable, come in.”

 

He flicked the lights on as they entered and hurried behind the bar to grab what he'd need from the kitchen and elsewhere. “The sofas will do, yes? They're quite comfortable for sleeping I'm told and the fire's still warm, so please sit down.”

 

“It's nice this place,” the dark-haired boy mused as he looked around.

 

The other boy signalled something once Bilbo returned with laden arms and both boys straightened.

 

“Fili.”

 

“Kili.”

 

They bowed neatly from the waist. “At your service.”

 

It was rather more formal than Bilbo was expecting. He carefully put everything down on a nearby table and twitched in a sort of bow of his own. He didn't remember any travellers bowing to his parents. “Ah, Bilbo Baggins. Thank you?”

 

The dark-haired one, Kili, looked excited when he caught sight of what Bilbo had brought in. “Is that shepherd's pie, sir?”

 

“Bilbo will be fine. And yes, please help yourselves.”

 

The two immediately sat down and began portioning out the food, working together in a very smooth sort of rhythm. There were some shared bone-structure in their faces, Bilbo decided, that spoke of a relation by blood. Cousins? Brothers, maybe? Travellers were a strange mix.

 

Travellers also liked good ales, Bilbo remembered, though his mother had always cautioned that different clans had different favourites. He cautiously retrieved two bottles and an opener for them from the bar.

 

“Would this suit...?”

 

Fili, the fair-haired one, looked delighted. “Yes! Perfect for a Durin. Thank you, Mr Baggins.”

 

Durin then. Bilbo retreated to his little office beside the kitchen and located the slim green volume that was filled with his mother's slanting handwriting. It still made his breath catch to see her handy work there. Wiping his eyes, he thumbed through until he found the name Durin. It had a bold mark beside it, indicating that Belladonna would have been happy for them visit again. Good. Bilbo breathed out and tucked the book away again before grabbing a basket of blankets and pillows from the cupboard opposite the kitchen. His mother had always kept everything needed for dealing with a traveller downstairs and easily to hand. Not much had changed after she'd died.

 

The brothers(?) were enthusiastically clearing their plates when Bilbo returned. Kili grabbed a bread roll and poked at the basket’s intricate handle.

 

“Very nice work. McTaggart, right?”

 

Oh, Kili had recognised the workmanship? Bilbo didn't know how often different traveller clans crossed paths, he only remembered his mother's warning that some clans shouldn't ever be in the same room. He cleared his throat. “I...er...I don't know, to be honest. It was an anonymous present, after my mother passed away.”

 

That made Kili and Fili pause, their eyes round and sympathetic. Bilbo rubbed at the back of his neck embarrassed at the attention. Had the boys even been alive when their family had last visited the _Warm Welcome?_ Maybe that was what had caught their attention so.

 

“She's the one who had the travellers' stone put in,” he explained quietly. “She was very keen on being welcoming.”

 

Fili's eyebrows shot up. “Baggins! I knew that name rang a bell, didn't recognise this place when we were told about it but was your mother _Belladonna_ Baggins?”

 

 

“Yes...”

 

“Then a thousand thanks to you, Mr Baggins,” Fili grabbed Bilbo's hand and pumped it. “Your mother took our aunt in when her knee was bad and she needed a few days out of the cold.”

 

“And she always had room for Balin and Dwalin when they were passing through, and Bofur and Bifur,” enthused Kili. “Oh, wait until Uncle hears about this.”

 

“Mmm, might even make up for us missing the convoy like that.”

 

Bilbo waved his hands, a little overwhelmed and flushed by what he was hearing. He knew his mother was valued by travellers, he'd seen that very plainly in the way most of them had treated her, but to hear that she'd made a difference to a family, such a difference that she was still talked about, well, that was wonderful.

 

“Quite famous, your mother,” Kili continued. “She helped out a lot of people.”

 

“I've been rather busy,” Bilbo murmured awkwardly; rather more aware than before of the sort of needy people he'd been shutting his door to.

 

Neither of the brothers looked angry or like they blamed him, so Bilbo perched on the nearby sofa and tried not to flinch at their table manners. The table was like a miniature warzone now that Fili and Kili had enjoyed a meal on it, and the carpet would need hoovering to say the least. Bilbo tried hard not to frown, then remembered something else they'd said.

 

“Ah...you mentioned an Uncle? Do you need to call family about your whereabouts? They're probably worrying.”

 

Fili nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pulling a slim little mobile phone out of his pocket. He mashed the buttons with a dexterity born from long practice. He didn't make a move to find privacy for the call.

 

“Uncle...we've found a spot for the night...Are you still...?...We can make it by lunch tomorrow if we push the bikes...Definitely, you'll never guess where we ended up!”

 

At that, Bilbo hastily retreated with the dirty dishes, intending on putting them in the dishwasher. Kili's voice stopped him though.

 

“We'll take care of that, Mr Baggins.”

 

Bilbo paused, considering the likelihood of waking up to find a sink full of broken crockery and the silver all gone. But his mother had vouched for them and they were offering to clean up after themselves, it could be their way of paying for the meal and Bilbo remembered the severity of his mother's warning to not ask travellers for money. Everything truly valuable was locked up anyway, wasn't it? So Bilbo nodded stiffly and went back into the bar armed with a couple of towels. Fili had finished his phone call and was laying the pillows and blankets down on two of the sofas.

 

“Uncle says thanks,” he said. “He doesn't usually, so good job.”

 

Bilbo coughed, not really sure how to take that. Was their uncle very badly mannered? Or maybe he was more strong and silent, Bilbo remembered many travellers like that. He dropped the towels down on a chair.

 

“For the rain,” he explained, before hesitantly venturing on. “Your Uncle, he's the...ah...head of your group?”

 

Fili grinned, grabbing a blue towel and rubbing against his wet hair. There was an earring shaped like a silver claw dangling from his right earlobe. “Right you are, Mr Baggins.”

 

“Uncle Thorin's been in charge since before we were birthed,” Kili added, taking hold of the other towel.

 

Bilbo wanted to ask what sort of person in authority abandoned youngsters in such terrible weather but he just about kept his thoughts to himself. There'd been horrible stories told in Hobbiton about the terrible things travellers had been said to have done. Bilbo had never seen anything himself but his mother had told him most firmly that no matter what he saw happen between members of a traveller group, he shouldn't ever intervene.

 

“You've nothing to fear, Mr Baggins,” Fili assured him, noticing Bilbo's troubled expression. “Uncle might not like outsiders, but he appreciates the help you've provided. And you're a Baggins.”

 

Kili nodded as though that was the end of it and allowed his brother to start towelling his hair. Watching them, Bilbo could now see that they weren't as young as he'd first thought. Both had many tattoos, including the same thing tattooed on their necks and collar bones, a sort of hammer? That was all that Bilbo could make out.

 

It was getting late and Bilbo was loathe to leave two travellers unsupervised in his pub while he went upstairs to sleep. But he couldn't sleep down here. So checking that the door was locked one final time, Bilbo smiled cautiously.

 

“I'll be off to bed then. You'll be here for breakfast?”

 

“Oh, we'll make our own,” dismissed Kili. “We'll be up and out before you know it.”

 

“We're obliged to you, Mr Baggins,” Fili added, continuing their strange practice of picking up speech wherever the other left off. “Truly. This won't be forgotten.”

 

For a horrible moment, Bilbo wondered if that would mean more travellers would be turning up at his door. He swallowed down that thought, and nodded jerkily at them. It was only once he'd retreated upstairs and had settled himself down in his nice comfortable bed that he realised he hadn't left them a key to lock up again once they left in the morning. He listened out for anything nefarious, but all he heard was warm silence and eventually he dropped off into a surprisingly restful sleep.

 

He jerked awake earlier than usual the next morning, his heart pounding. Would he go downstairs to find that his mother had been wrong all these years and that the place had stripped of valuables? Heart in his month, he rushed downstairs without even pausing to put on his slippers. There was not a sound when he appeared behind the bar and indeed, no travellers. Bilbo checked the kitchen hastily – all china and silver present and accounted for, and the money from the till was where it was supposed to be; ready to be paid into the bank that afternoon.

 

When he ventured back into the bar, he noticed that the formerly messy table had been completely cleaned and the towels, blankets, and pillows were neatly stacked on the sofas. There was also a small addition to the room; a pair of beautifully whittled wood figures – recognisably Fili and Kili - and a note on the table in a sloping hand.

 

_The rain stopped so we left to greet the sun. There's porridge on the stove if you're so inclined and tea in the pot. Thanks for the welcome._

 

They'd signed it only with their initials, in case somebody else saw it perhaps? Bilbo hurried back into the kitchen; in his haste to check on any potential thievery, he'd completely missed the pot on the low-burning stove filled with delicious-smelling porridge and the waiting tea on the sideboard. Something warm unwound inside Bilbo; it'd been a long time since someone had made him breakfast.

 

And his mother had been right, which was a very nice relief. Thank heavens for respectable travellers, something Bilbo had never expected to appreciate. He settled down for a good breakfast before his sparse staff turned up. He did love a good start to the day; he could even deal with the latest sniffy letter from Lobelia, imploring him to give up his lovely pub – _so scruffy, Bilbo! And think of how much money and esteem we could bring to the Baggins name!_ In a rather Tookish moment, Bilbo used the letter to start the usual fire in the grate. He put the wooden figures on the mantle and smiled whenever they caught his eye.

 

Truthfully for the next few weeks he didn't think much about the two rangy brothers who'd turned up in the middle of a rainstorm, asking for room and board. In fact, he didn’t think of them again until the night that a vaguely familiar series of knocks sounded at his door.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

Bilbo was doing the accounts that night, frowning at the neat little figures he'd scribbled down. Surely they'd made more than that this past month? In fact, he was sure of it. So why was he left with that amount? Something cold dropped into his stomach, had somebody been _stealing_ the pub's profits?

 

Before he dwelt more on such a horrifying thought, there was a knocking at the pub's front door. It sounded very familiar. Bilbo's forehead wrinkled, hadn't he heard a knock like that before? It'd been raining, hadn't it? Oh...He got to his feet. Fili and Kili. It wasn't raining now, he wasn't obligated to let them in. Surely they'd caught up with their family, what did they need here? They couldn't have been left behind again.

 

The knocking continued. The Tookish part of Bilbo was eager to ask the brothers where they'd learned to whittle so well, to check that they'd been eating properly, and that they hadn't gotten into any trouble. The Baggins part was naturally more cautious and worried about anyone seeing travellers hunched in the pub's doorway. Letting them in would solve that...

 

Bilbo flung the door open to find Fili, Kili, and a friend. A rather large and imposing friend. Bilbo tried hard not to gulp and instead uttered a rather unsure.

 

“Good evening.”

 

“Mr Baggins! Could you put us up for the night again?” asked a smiling Kili.

 

Bilbo arched a suitably disbelieving eyebrow, finding it easier to focus on Kili than the hulking shape behind. “Don't tell me you got left behind again.”

 

Fili laughed. “No, this time the family intended on splitting up. Safer you know, to travel in small groups.”

 

Bilbo didn't know that, and was Fili implying that his family had done something that warranted them needing to be as inconspicuous as possible? Not all travellers were criminals, Belladonna had insisted, which of course meant that some were. Bilbo had the awful suspicion that he was currently gazing at the latter. The latter who were outside his nice respectable pub where any late-patrolling policeman or keen-eyed law-abiding citizen could spot them. Bilbo quickly stood aside.

 

“Brilliant,” beamed Kili as he shouldered past. “Have you any of that ale in?”

 

“That depends on how much mess you make first,” Bilbo replied, having recovered his wits, only to promptly lose them again when faced with the large stranger. “Ah, good evening, Mr...?”

 

“Dwalin,” Fili supplied. “Old friend of our Uncle.”

 

Mr Dwalin gave Bilbo a very sharp look, causing Bilbo to feel as though every thought he'd ever had about shutting his door to travellers was being read and judged. But the man said nothing as he walked in. With great relief, Bilbo shut the door behind him and hurried into the kitchen. No one ever called at the pub this late so it wasn't likely he’d have to brew up any explanations. If anyone passing by the pub now asked later on, he could say they were friends or distant relatives of his mother. That was more of a rearrangement of the truth than an outright lie anyway.

 

He kept his hands busy heating up some steak and kidney pie and the last of the vindaloo. Kili and Fili immediately rushed over to relieve him of his heavy tray when he appeared, chattering heartfelt thank-yous. Bilbo found his gaze drawn to the other member of the group and his eyes widened when he saw just how big Dwalin was. Like some terrible ironic joke, Dwalin was entirely bald on top, contrasting strongly with how long both Kili and Fili's hair was, though he did have a rather impressive beard. He wore a great deal of leather and had many tattoos, including a familiar hammer on his neck and collarbone.

 

Dwalin hadn't yet shown any intent to do anything terrifying or even slightly criminal, Bilbo firmly reminded himself; he just looked as though he might at any moment. Belladonna would have told her son off for judging a book so thoroughly by its cover; Bilbo likely would have replied that if she'd met such a disreputable-looking book, then she might have done a little judging herself. He tried not to stare at Dwalin so it took him a couple of furtive glances to realise that Dwalin was looking with furrowed eyebrows at Belladonna’s portrait. Hadn’t Fili mentioned that Belladonna had met a few of his family, including Dwalin?

 

Bilbo sidled over and cleared his throat a little. It didn’t do to ignore a fellow when he was inside your home, especially when he was standing so forbiddingly before a portrait of your mother.

 

Dwalin spoke before Bilbo could. “Good woman, yer mother.”

 

Bilbo was startled into silence for a couple of moments before offering a firm reply. “She was, very.”

 

“Did a lot for us. Ori’s always wanted to try her trifle.”

 

Before Bilbo could ask who Ori was and remark that yes, his mother’s trifle was a concoction to behold, Dwalin had moved purposefully over to where the food was now laid out, telling the brothers to leave some for him. They did behave like family, Bilbo mused, a rather messy unnerving family, but family all the same. Yet the way Bilbo understood it, from what he remembered of travellers' tales, they didn’t often have a permanent home like Bilbo did – and he would still have it in the future, no matter what Lobelia had planned. The idea of not having _The Warm Welcome_ made something ache inside of him. Not having a stationary ready home had to be terrible.

 

But didn’t travellers travel because they didn’t want roots or anchors? Belladonna had nodded when the subject had come up and had replied that _a lot of them, yes, but some, my love, haven’t got a home anymore to go back to._

 

What type were the Durins?

 

He never got around to asking them because he got distracted by watching Dwalin carve something out of wood as Fili and Kili sang very strange-sounding songs in the kitchen amid washing the dishes. For such a large man, Dwalin had an amazingly delicate touch. Bilbo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the shape emerging– Dwalin himself. The figure had huge forearms and a deep frown on his face, well, at least the man had a good sense of his own self-image.

 

Dwalin handed it to Bilbo without ceremony and nodded before hammering out a text message and grabbing a blanket to begin making himself at home on a sofa. After Bilbo had put the Dwalin figure on the mantle with the Fili and Kili ones, he turned to find the brothers themselves settling down on the other sofa together, top to toe. It looked very cramped and Kili was elbowing Fili sharply and Fili was kicking back and really, Bilbo was about to say something only he was interrupted before he could get more than one word out.

 

“We’re grateful, Mr Baggins,” said Kili around a yawn. “You don’t know how much you’ve done for us.”

 

 _As long as you can promise that you haven’t robbed a bank or hurt anyone or…_ Bilbo bit his tongue and managed a smile instead. “Glad to help, thank you for doing the dishes. Do you need to call your Uncle?”

 

“Dwalin took care of that,” Fili replied. “Uncle’s answering some questions and leading people on the merry dance that they deserve.”

 

Well, that was all very cryptic. What was their Uncle Thorin like? He sounded very...organised, or at least Bilbo hoped he was. He watched the brothers settle down, feeling a little worried for them, before retreating upstairs, very aware of Dwalin’s fierce gaze on him. Hunkering down in his little bedroom – he still couldn’t bring himself to use his parents’ old room – Bilbo wondered how many members of the Durin family there actually were and if, he was horrified to find himself a little curious in this, if he’d meet them all. What a Tookish thought.

 

The next morning, more logs for the fire were waiting, neatly split and stacked, by the grate, and another wooden figure had appeared on the wiped-clean table. An impressive man with long hair and an intense expression. Was this an indication of who he’d meet next? He stared at the figure until he realised the time and so tucked the skilfully-carved man onto the mantle with the others before dashing into the kitchen to swallow down some toast.

 

The Durins turned up more frequently after that. They always arrived after dark and late enough that the rest of the staff had gone home. Bilbo was guiltily-grateful for that, and despite his constant misgivings and worries, he found himself allowing them in time after time, and even starting to enjoy their strange companionship. It wasn’t as though they were doing anything _wrong_ by being there and he hadn’t had a particularly busy social life before anyway – apart from fending off Lobelia’s designs on his property. It was nice to have company of an evening, and people really appreciating the pub’s comforts.

 

Bombur asked all sorts of questions about how Bilbo prepared the food and squeezed into the kitchen to have a poke about, which made Bilbo worriedly hover outside the kitchen door, convinced his expensive equipment was about to be spectacularly broken. But Bombur had an unexpectedly light touch and produced some wonderful desserts.

 

He also met Dwalin’s brother Balin who everybody else seemed to listen to and obey. The older man still had a sharpness and a twinkle in his eye despite his age as he sat near the fire and soaked up the warmth. He had very interesting stories to tell and many evenings involved Bilbo learning about the Durins’ journeys and how Thorin had risen to take on leadership of the family after his father had passed away. Something about the way Balin said _passed away_ made Bilbo shiver, a horrible certainty taking shape in his mind.

 

“You don’t mean…Thorin’s father was _murdered_?!”

 

Dwalin, who was sat nearby, growled something that sounded both vicious and insulting and Balin looked rather fierce in that moment too. Bilbo was very glad that they seemed to consider him an ally at least.

 

“Home isn’t just a word, laddie. And neither is heartsick,” Balin replied mysteriously. “Thrain got dismantled by a reptile that should have been skinned years ago.”

 

So it was on that evening that Bilbo first heard the true story – according to Balin – of why the Durins were travellers in the first place. Thorin’s grandfather Thror had been killed, supposedly by a man with a reptilian smile and knife-sharp intelligence. And all because that man, Smaug, had somehow grasped the Durins’ land from Thror and didn’t ever want to give it back.

 

“It’s a jewel,” Dori said – a squat fellow who was the older of three brothers and who knew all sorts of card games that he was gradually teaching Bilbo. “A jewel called Erebor. There’s no other place like it.”

 

According to the group there that night, Erebor was theirs, and through bets and promises Smaug had oiled his way into claiming ownership which had been devastating all round as the Durins' money was all tied up in Erebor somehow and Smaug was only inclined to give them access to it with great interest added on for repayment seeing as it was his money now. Shortly after the 'sale' Thror had ‘passed away.’ His son Thrain had later died ‘under very mysterious fucking circumstances’. Despite their best efforts, neither he, nor his son, had ever succeeded in regaining Erebor. It was the most awful story and it left Bilbo with severe stomach ache and the most overwhelming urge to cook until all Durin bellies were full. It sounded desperately awful particularly for Thorin, Bilbo's stomach ached especially for him. What a life and legacy, his poor family.

 

 

“We’ve always travelled,” Gloin said emphatically – he had a thick red beard and a laugh that made Bilbo shake if he stood too close. “But we always had a place to come back to.”

 

Now they didn’t. The Durin family was actually rather larger than the clan that Kili and Fili travelled with, but for safety and ease of travel, they’d split into several groups, who hadn’t seen each other in years. Kili and Fili’s mother Dis, also Thorin’s sister, was in one such group, as were the wives of Gloin and Dori.

 

They could be lying, Bilbo thought to himself rather miserably. Only he’d seen the look in their eyes, their yearning for home, their hatred of Smaug. It was all very true to them. Had his mother known? Was that one of the reasons she’d approved of them returning to the _Welcome_? She’d wanted to give them someplace warm and welcoming. Bilbo could understand that. The Durins didn’t pretend they were saints – Dwalin apparently had the longest police record, though Thorin and Nori were close seconds. Nori was an extremely talented thief and always emptied his pockets of all the bits and pieces he’d surreptiously picked up during evenings at the _Welcome_.

 

“We’re not even close to angels,” Balin told Bilbo quietly. “You say if you ever want us away from your little piece of home. There’s no call for us to make things worse for you.”

 

Goosebumps popped up over Bilbo’s skin. “Worse? What do you mean?”

 

Balin nodded towards where the latest letter from Lobelia had been hastily shoved behind the growing number of figurines on the mantle. Bilbo reddened; he hadn’t talked to any of the Durins about his persistent Sackville-Baggins problems. Lobelia was getting even more determined to turf him out of the pub, and her letters and phone-calls had even become a little threatening of late, not that she would ever admit to such a thing. It made the Tookish part of Bilbo roar.

 

If Lobelia knew Bilbo was regularly visited by known felons, Bilbo could hardly believe it himself most of the time, though he’d been assured that they weren’t currently wanted for any offences, she would no doubt use it as some sort of leverage to get her own way. Oddly, Bilbo felt particularly angry about that, the possibility of Lobelia using the Durins in such a way, and possibly getting them shoved into prison, even further away from their home. Bilbo was, to his not-in-considerable surprise, rather upset at the idea of the Durins disappearing totally from his life.

 

“Thorin would say we shouldn’t be trusting an outsider anyway,” snorted Bofur, taking a break from singing his bawdiest drinking songs as a way to make Bilbo’s ears redden. “He’s paranoid but it keeps us prison-free.”

 

If Bilbo was being honest, he could admit to himself that he quite liked hearing stories about Thorin most of all – he was the only member of this group of Durins that Bilbo hadn’t met yet and Bilbo found himself fascinated by what he'd learned. All Durins who visited Bilbo’s pub had a good word to say about their leader. Balin and Dwalin had been his friends since childhood and, along with Kili and Fili, had the best stories about him. He’d broken his arm once protecting his nephews apparently, and had dedicated his entire life to keeping his family safe and trying to regain Erebor for them. Bilbo wondered at the kind of strength, bravery, and self-sacrifice it took to survive what Thorin had been through and to somehow continue fighting for a home long lost to him.

 

“He does what he feels he has to,” Balin agreed thoughtfully. “We’ve only got each other, after all.”

 

Bilbo shivered, reaching down to put another log on the fire, and hoped that wherever Thorin was, he was warm and safe and not alone.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

Bilbo should have realised that it was going to be a bad day when, before the pub even opened, one of his staff called in sick. Another one begged off their shift too, stammering about a family emergency in a wholly unconvincing manner that left Bilbo with a particularly nasty suspicion about certain relatives. But would Lobelia really go that far?

 

He looked up at his mother’s portrait. “How did you do it?”

 

But Belladonna kept silent and Bilbo continued to rush around, firing up the ovens for the day. Lobelia was apparently getting vicious, what was next? Bilbo prayed fervently that the Durins would stay away that day, for his sake and theirs.

 

The day continued downhill from there – food got burned (Bilbo was sure that the ovens shouldn’t have been turned up that high in the first place, how had that happened?), paperwork got misplaced, and there was a pretty disgusting smell from one of the stalls in the Gents. Bilbo was rushed off his feet for literally the whole day and was left with a pounding headache and a fervent plea that really, it couldn’t get any worse, could it?

 

Late in the afternoon, between the lunch and dinner crowds, there was a knock at the door. Bilbo just about resisted the urge to lay his head down on the bar and ignore whatever visitors were waiting. But he didn't because it was the middle of the day and the pub was open so why was somebody knocking? Well, it wasn’t the knock of a Durin – the clan always knocked in the same way, so that Bilbo would know it was safe to open his door so late at night. This knock was firm and loud and very official-sounding. Bilbo took a quick look around, feeling foolish because nobody else was actually in the pub, not even any staff who'd actually made it in because they were on their belated lunch breaks, and the Durins hadn’t visited for almost a fortnight and he might have been getting worried about them.

 

On the other side of door, stood a rather tall pale policeman, Kili and Fili hunched in front of him, looking particularly pathetic and wide-eyed. Bilbo twitched, just a little, and kept his mouth firmly shut as he scrabbled internally to collect himself. What had the brothers done and why were they such evident bringing trouble to his pub?

 

“Good afternoon, Officer,” Bilbo was proud of how his voice didn’t shake. “What’s this all about then?”

 

“Do you know these youths, sir? Only they were found in the local area today and after that theft last week, I’ve had a very severe report that they’ve been hoarding said stolen goods in your back rooms, even in your back garden.”

 

Bilbo looked shocked without any need for pretence. Stolen goods?! He was aware that some members of the Durin family took a free hand to a great deal that wasn’t nailed down – out of necessity, Bofur had always insisted, never for kicks. After all, they didn't have access to their own money so they lived off the land, and what they could get their hands on. They’d never left anything like that in the pub before though; Bilbo had a very sharp eye for things out of place in his pub and always did a thorough check each night because some of Hobbiton’s youths liked to move things about for a laugh after one too many ciders.

 

And Fili and Kili were a little reckless and enthusiastic but it seemed unlikely that they’d be caught hanging around an area where a much talked-about thieving had recently taken place. That would make them all too easily suspected. Bilbo’s headache thumped; after his rather awful day so far, he was seeing a very nasty connection, especially after his lunch break, during which he’d properly read a letter from a certain relative that he’d received the day before.

 

“Sir?”

 

“This severe report, it wouldn’t have been given to you by a Sackville-Baggins, would it?” he asked, almost mildly.

 

An expression very quickly flickered across the officer’s face before the same professional blankness took over again, but Bilbo caught it and his eyes narrowed. What was Lobelia trying to do, cause Bilbo to be so horrified by his new friends and their behaviour that he’d sell up immediately? Trying to show him up in front of his customers? Or demonstrating that she could affect those he cared about if he didn’t do what she wanted? She really was getting impatient, and extraordinarily vicious. Well, after his extremely trying morning, Bilbo had had enough.

 

He straightened and affected his brightest tone. “These are friends of mine, Officer, and as far as I’m aware, no stolen goods have crossed my threshold or entered my garden. You’re welcome to search my house from top to bottom.”

 

The Officer looked a little taken aback. “You’re sure, Sir?”

 

Bilbo glanced at the brothers, looking for any sign that he was doing the wrong thing, but they blinked guilelessly up at him. Okay, then. Bilbo took a deep breath and let the full influence of Belladonna Baggins run free. “I’m sure I have nothing to worry about. And as for you two, what will your mother say about this? You know how much she hates it when you get into trouble.”

 

In a flash, Fili and Kili were playing their parts perfectly. “Oh, come on, Uncle, don't tell her.”

 

“Yeah, you know how she got last time. And it wasn't even our fault today..”

 

Bilbo shook his head. “Oh, and I suppose the officer dragged you in for no good reason, did he? I’ve told you before, if you cause mischief, I won’t be part of it. Now then Officer, I assume you’ll want to start a search immediately? I take it you won’t be handcuffing the boys, and that I can call their mother about all this?”

 

The Officer blinked and nodded slowly. “Yes, Sir. I’ll just have to call in some back-up of course.”

 

“Of course. Do come in.”

 

He gave Kili and Fili a very disapproving look as they scuttled in and sat down next to each other, every inch the sulky young offenders. Bilbo tucked his smile away very carefully behind his scowl. Only last month, he’d been sat beside Balin and Dori, listening to Kili talk about a girl from another travelling clan, one that Thorin apparently hated with a great abiding passion.

 

“Thorin has little practice in letting go of grudges,” Balin had told Bilbo later. “He thinks the Mirkwoods should have done more to help the Durins.”

 

“Could they?”

 

Balin had relit his pipe. “More than likely, laddie. But they travel different to us. And the lad Kili, well, I've seen him infatuated before and this seems a mite more serious to me, a fact Thorin is putting a singular effort into ignoring.”

 

Infatuation was a good way to describe Kili's behaviour, there was a lot of sighing and boasting about the girl, Tauriel, who'd stolen his heart by beating him soundly at some carnival contests and had then had the sharper tongue when he'd gone to talk to her. When Fili had teasingly chipped in about Kili's lack of progress in even getting a date, there'd been a lot of discussion about the girl who was wearing Fili's ring, the daughter of the head of a traveller settlement way up the country a man who was by all accounts the mayor of a town way up the country. From what Bilbo had been able to make out, Thorin wasn't thrilled about that match either but his sister had sided with Fili and according to the boys' gleeful telling of it, Thorin's protests had stood no chance at all.

 

 

At the moment, Fili and Kili were acting as though they were actually misbehaving hellions, grumpily awaiting their punishments. The Officer was calling somebody on his police radio, though he didn't look terribly happy about it. Had he expected Bilbo to panic and claim that he didn't know Fili and Kili? Had he been told that would happen?

 

Bilbo tore his thoughts from such conspiracies and put a hand in his pocket, only to discover a phone that definitely didn't belong to him; in fact it belonged to Fili, didn’t it? Ah, one of the boys had been very light-fingered. Normally Bilbo wouldn't have been happy at all but this was a phone that contained some of their relatives’ numbers, very helpful. Bilbo paused, who should he call? He couldn't really call their mother since the idea of the groups staying apart would then be shot to pieces. His heart irritatingly skipped at the thought of calling Thorin. No, he had a better idea. Bilbo quickly looking through the phone's contacts and pressed the green call button.

 

“Now you're just lucky your mother's away on holiday,” he told Kili and Fili. “She deserves that break and I'm not spoiling it for her, so you can explain yourselves when she gets back.”

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

“You're aware they're travellers, sir,” The Officer must have finished his call for back-up because he was looking at Bilbo most suspiciously.

 

Bilbo stared back, his heart pounding. “Perfectly aware, thank you. And you're aware that travellers take holidays just like everybody else, of course. Their mother needed a break from these two, as you can well imagine.”

 

Kili and Fili protested loudly, just as Bofur answered the call. “Where the hell are you, lads? Thorin's going spare.”

 

Bilbo let out an internal sigh of relief. Right then, here was where it got tricky. He'd always been good at riddles, and Bofur often liked to try and beat him at such games. If anyone was going to glean the hidden meaning in words, it was going to be him, hopefully.

 

“Ah, Bo, I thought you might be missing these two. Do you know they've practically gotten themselves _arrested_?”

 

At the emphasis on the last word, Bilbo glared at the boys in question who looked down with very bad grace and nudged each other hard. Bilbo could well believe that they'd been just like that when they were teens.

 

“Arrested!? What the fuck's happened?”

 

“Yes, I can't believe they'd do this to their mother, not after what happened last time. You'll never believe it; somebody has informed the police that Fili and Kili hid stolen goods in my house and garden.”

 

Bofur cursed very colourfully. “Well, I can assure you that there's nothing of the sort on your premises, Bilbo.”

 

“Oh I know, I check the whole place every night, ever since young Tommin decided to swap one of my mother's vases for an ashtray, hoping I wouldn't notice.”

 

“And somebody's there in the room with you right now, I assume, hence all the fairystories about their Ma?”

 

“Yes, I've told them, they're old enough now for these things to have very serious consequences.”

 

“All right, we can be there by tomorrow, tonight at a wee push.”

 

Bilbo shook his head, very aware of the police officer watching him far too keenly. “Oh no, this'll take a while to sort out. My house will be full of policemen tearing everything apart, I expect, and digging up the garden.”

 

“I'm sorry, Bilbo.” Bofur sounded genuinely remorseful. “God, what a shite mess! We're not to blame for this, you know, but if their prints get into the system, Smaug'll have his minions over your threshold before you can blink.”

 

Another complication. Bilbo closed his eyes for a second; for a moment he'd entirely forgotten Smaug's vendetta against the Durins. According to Oin, Smaug had his fingers in a lot of pies and it hadn't been beyond him to buy the police's help in the past.

 

“Well, it all sounds highly disorganised to me, more like the prank calls my cousin used to make to the police far too regularly.”

 

Bofur paused. “You think this is a Sackville-Baggins problem...”

 

“Oh, the tales I could tell you.”

 

“Okay, well, there'll be more trouble if Smaug realises who the county's finest have got in their clutches. A couple of us will drop by tomorrow to pick up the boys. And you'll probably hear from Thorin tonight too. Sorry. Thanks, Bilbo. You're a sainted man.”

 

Bofur hung up, leaving Bilbo a little flummoxed. Thorin would call him? But he couldn't think of that right now, there was a policeman staring at him. Clearing his throat, Bilbo pocketed the phone and turned to the boys.

 

“Well, you'll be pleased to hear that your mother won't be informed tonight. But your uncles are completely furious and will be arriving tomorrow to tell you so.”

 

Fili and Kili pulled identical faces of upset and Bilbo shook his head. “It's the least you can expect, stop looking like that.”

 

There was a loud noise of cars outside and soon the pub was full of policemen who began systematically looking behind every painting and floorboard. Bilbo retreated to the kitchen, unable to bear seeing his beautiful home so stripped. Another officer watched him from the doorway.

 

“Have a lot of travellers in here, do you, sir?”

 

Bilbo stiffened, prickling a little at the snide tone, and at the fact that rather more recently than he'd like to recall, he'd have been thinking the same thing about such people. “Only the ones I trust.”

 

Which was true, he did trust the Durins. Bilbo paused; he trusted them and he didn’t want them to be used as pawns by Lobelia or be hunted down by Smaug.

 

The officer sneered and Bilbo found himself saved from replying by a shout of his name from the front door. Paul, one of his regulars, was being held back from entering, oh for heaven’s sake, was that yellow police tape?! Oh, very clever, Lobelia, try to frighten off his customers with his scandalous problems with the law.

 

Bilbo pasted on another smile. “Hallo, Paul. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve been having.”

 

“I might,” his friend laughed. “What’s going on here then?”

 

Bilbo sighed, sounded very long-suffering. “Would you believe it, they think these traveller lads stowed stolen goods in my pub?”

 

Paul took one look at the boys and roared with laughter. The nearest policeman didn’t look amused at all.

 

“These lads? You sure your information’s right, officer?”

 

“I can assure you, sir…”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you can.” Paul rolled his eyes and turned back to Bilbo. “Any chance of a beer out here Bilbo? You might get a few more in too; the lads’ll never believe this.”

 

Briefly panicked at the thought of customers crowded at the door watching his home getting torn apart, distracted staff, and the police sticking their noses everywhere, Bilbo grasped desperately for some Baggins’ serenity and Tookish spirit. Then he caught sight of an officer edging a little too closely to Kili and Fili, and was that a camera phone he was holding? A sick feeling grew in Bilbo’s stomach – was one of Smaug’s best and brightest here already, confirming identities?

 

Bilbo raised his voice slightly. “Not a problem, Paul. This will draw quite a crowd, won’t it?”

 

Thankfully at that moment, Bilbo’s staff returned from their late lunch break, looking shocked at the sight of their place of work being torn through by the police. Bilbo hurried to tell them the story, hoping he wouldn't lose any more of them tomorrow as a result, and hustled them behind the bar. Smaug’s man was nowhere to be seen now and Kili shook his head at Bilbo’s look – they’d made sure not to give the man a clear shot. Good, but that didn’t mean the man wouldn’t be back. Bilbo tried to concentrate on getting drinks ready for customers and on keeping an eye on the police as they made their way into the back garden for a poke about. He was sweating far too much, even though he had nothing to hide. His property had never been so vigorously visited by the police before. Oh, God...

 

The Tookish bullishness was beginning to wear off now, beaten down by the reams of officers bustling about. His beautiful pub, the place his parents had loved so much, was in total disarray. Bilbo very much wanted to sit down and maybe shake apart in private but there were customers to see to, all watching the police with varying expressions of excitement and disbelief.

 

The phone in Bilbo's pocket rang again and he answered without checking the screen first. “Hello?”

 

“Mr Baggins, I presume?”

 

It was a rich deep voice. Bilbo's heart jumped; he knew who he had to be talking to. He swallowed a little, and managed not to mention Thorin by name, remembering all too quickly who he could be surrounded by. “Nice to make your acquaintance at last, sir.”

 

“My nephews, they're well?”

 

The concern was clear in his voice and Bilbo glanced quickly at the brothers in question, they appeared to be playing some sort of game involving paper, pencils, and dominoes. They'd drawn several patrons into it and looked bright-eyed and happy. Fili caught his eye and smiled; no sign of any problems. Bilbo couldn't smile back.

 

“Oh, they're amusing themselves and my customers. I'm sure all of this will be cleared up once nothing illegally obtained is found here.”

 

That was said as much for the nearby officers' benefit as much as it was for Thorin, and Bilbo could hear the man breathe out quietly as though lifted by Bilbo’s words. Bilbo's lips tugged upwards; he'd managed to relieve Thorin of some of the troubled weight he apparently always carried with him. That pleased Bilbo a lot more than it ought to. He hoped he wasn't blushing too suspiciously.

 

“My kin tell me they’ve found no cause to suspect your motives in helping,” Thorin said softly. “There's not many they’d say that about.”

 

“It's always a pleasure to have them here,” Bilbo said truthfully, glancing again at the brothers though meaning all the Durins he'd met so far.

 

He really did mean it. He hoped Thorin could tell.

 

“We're in your debt, Mr Baggins.”

 

Bilbo was about to say that that was overly kind really when he spotted a police officer walking up the back staircase, which lead to the private bedrooms, places that no customer ever entered. His heart squeezed.

 

“I'm sorry, I must go. The police are going upstairs and I just can't...”

 

Bilbo hung up before he could stop babbling, silently cursing himself for being so rude to the great Thorin Durin during their first ever conversation. But he couldn't focus on that now – his heart and head pounding, he hared up the stairs.

 

“Is this really necessary, officer?”

 

The officer in question looked slightly apologetic. “I'm sorry, sir, but orders are orders.”

 

Bilbo deflated, his headache worse than ever, and scuttled after the policeman, watching as his neat little bedroom was turned over for anything reported stolen. When the policeman went to open the door to another bedroom, Bilbo almost slammed it shut.

 

“I...My parents' room, officer. Nothing much has been touched since their passing. So if you could...?”

 

The officer nodded his head and looked even more sympathetic, but shouldered his way in anyway. Bilbo closed his eyes, he couldn't watch. He couldn't see all the clothing and objects that he'd left so carefully in their places now being entirely disrupted. He walked downstairs with a heavy heart, observing that at least most things had been put back to rights and that one officer was saying to another that nothing was found in the back garden and what kind of reliable source had given the tip anyway?

 

He sat down and accepted a brandy from someone, the world swimming around him. He thought he could hear footsteps coming back down the stairs but he couldn't lift his head. He couldn't...

 

“Sorry for the disturbance, sir...”

 

“....Waste of man power. Who called it in?”

 

“...Everything back, the Chief doesn't want any complaints...”

 

“...Ought be ashamed of themselves...”

 

“...Not our police officers. They'd know immediately what a hoax it was. Where did they come from?”

 

“...Bilbo? Is he...?”

 

“...Burning up...Thanks, we'll take care of him...”

 

“...May have more questions, can we contact?...”

 

“...Call Prim, she'll take care of the lock-up if you need help...”

 

The voices seemed to come from all angles and Bilbo was helpless before them. He couldn't follow them; he couldn't escape from the crushing feeling that enveloped him. His mother would have been so furious with such an invasion, she would have demanded paperwork and evidence and would have finally flung open her doors, watching them like a hawk as they'd worked, demanding that they put everything back in its proper place afterwards. And she would have sought compensation for the accusations and trouble caused.

 

But Bilbo wasn't her. And he felt so very drained and sick of it all. His head was too full. Lobelia wasn’t stopping her assault of demanding offers. And the Durins, what if Smaug came, upon discovering that Fili and Kili were here? The thought of them losing another piece of home...

 

How badly had Bilbo's home been hurt tonight? His pub, his lovely garden and back field, his parents’ bedroom...Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, bowed by the weight of it all. He just couldn't think of it, he couldn't.

 

Bilbo's world tipped sideways as the voices quietened and then lessened as he found he was being carried upwards by strong arms. Someone was singing softly and hair brushed his neck. He fidgeted, then suddenly seized up with fear.

 

“Not the large room, it's....the small, please. Please don't...”

 

“We won't.”

 

Fili's voice was almost unbearably gentle and Bilbo couldn't stop tears from trickling down his face as the darkness finally rose and claimed him. He welcomed it; at least there the pain was gone.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

He didn’t know how long he stayed swallowed up by the darkness. He heard voices sometimes though and turned towards them, but he couldn't ever find who was speaking, so he let himself be carried by the soothing blackness. It was so calming and comfortable, and pain seemed a very far off idea indeed. Eventually though, Bilbo found that the voices were becoming clearer and more frequent. He tried to fight the feeling, knowing instinctively that there would be pain and upset to deal with once he actually joined the voices. But the sounds were insistent and eventually the darkness bled away and he surfaced against his own wishes into startling light and noise with a croaked gasp.

 

“Bilbo!”

 

Fili helped him sit up and drink water through a straw. It was beautiful but Bilbo ached for tea. He must have said so because Kili laughed from his other side and wrapped a careful arm around him.

 

“Thank God, you’re back with us. None of us can make a cup of tea as good as yours.”

 

“The secret’s in warming the pot,” Bilbo murmured, blinking hard, trying to clear his fuzzy head. His memories felt far too fluid for comfort. “What’s…How long have I…?”

 

Fili frowned worriedly and Kili leaned in a little closer. “What do you remember?”

 

Bilbo tried to focus on his slippery memories and some managed to swim into focus. They made his heart ache with fresh terrible pain. “The police were here, searching for things, stolen things. They came up…there were lots of them.”

 

“And you had a very long day,” Fili concluded. “You went out like a light, frightened a few of your customers. But your staff took care of everything, Kili kept an eye on them, and Bombur’s been running everything downstairs since your episode.”

 

Bilbo muzzily nodded, the panic that had begun wildly bubbling through him at the thought of his pub running without him beginning to settle a little at the news – of all the Durins, Bombur would know what to do.

 

“Mr Baggins is awake.”

 

It was that dark deep voice again and Bilbo inclined his head enough to see a stranger standing in the doorway of his bedroom. No, not a stranger – something about the cut of his cheekbones and the look in his eyes was familiar. Bilbo gaped – the man was the living embodiment of the wooden figurine Dwalin had first carved for him. He had long hair interspersed with silver, a neat dark beard, and was dressed in jeans worn at the knees with a dark non-descript t-shirt. Bilbo’s heart fluttered inappropriately – he’d collapsed from stress, exhaustion, or sickness, his business was being run by a traveller, he’d been investigated by the police, and a man he’d been thinking and hearing about rather a lot recently was now stood near the end of his bed. He would almost welcome the darkness again.

 

“Thorin Durin, at your service,” the man said, quiet and intense.

 

He didn’t bow like his nephews had. Bilbo wished he could stand up but his legs and arms felt far too heavy. He managed to nod his head instead. “Bilbo Baggins. I hope everything’s been to your liking here?”

 

Thorin’s expression twisted into something Bilbo didn't really recognise. “It won’t be to yours. Your home was left…untidy after the police raid.”

 

Images danced behind Bilbo’s eyes, jagged and malevolent, and all he could think about was the too-open door of his parents’ room…

 

“We’ve tidied it up though,” Kili piped up. “Everything’s looking good now.”

 

Bilbo smiled, because it was such a kind thing to do, but they couldn’t really have put things back as neatly as Bilbo liked them. He had his routine and his careful way with things and he liked to be reminded of how his parents had kept the pub. “How do you know-?”

 

“We remember where things are, it’s part of our job,” Fili replied with careful subtlety.

 

Of course, if they ever needed to 'acquire' things, they needed to put everything back in its proper place afterwards, to avert any suspicion. Bilbo managed to squeeze their hands in thanks, then remembered a question he still hadn’t gotten an answer to.

 

“How long have I been like this?”

 

“Three days,” Thorin replied, his eyes still dark and intense on Bilbo, or maybe on his nephews who were both sat on the bed too. “Oin said your fever would break soon.”

 

Oin was medically trained, Bilbo remembered, and liked thick hot chocolate rather than tea or coffee. Did that mean more of the Durins had been staying in the pub? Bilbo jerked, trying to sit up more, but his limbs are still heavy and pained and far too sluggish to respond. He settled back down again with a hiss and a worried question.

 

“You’re not in danger staying here, are you? Really, if you need to leave then you must…”

 

Thorin’s expression twisted again, though Bilbo could read a little surprise and interest in there this time that made his skin heat up very pleasantly. Thorin's gaze was very much like a caress and Bilbo was very much aware that he was in pain and Thorin's nephews were crowded near him. His timing was truly terrible.

 

“Kili and Fili have given their statements and the police have miraculously apologised for the intrusion into your home. Bifur has been keeping an eye on the police report filed about the incident.”

 

Bifur had been hacking then, according to what Kili and Fili had told Bilbo, Bifur had a very fine skill for such things. Bilbo probably didn't hide his disapproval of that all too well but Thorin's expression merely curled a little more as Kili picked up the story.

 

“The police are pretty embarrassed about the whole thing, all that man-power wasted. So things are kind of vague in the report, at the moment we're just listed as 'known travellers'. The minute that changes, Bifur'll make sure it changes back again. Smaug's got some sort of alert set up for our names.”

 

Smaug. Bilbo shook his head a little, and found that it didn't hurt too greatly to do so. Now that he had the opportunity, he was going to ask some questions; maybe they'd humour him because of his position. “Smaug has Erebor, legally I mean. So why does he spend so much money and time and influence on trying to find you? It seems very...impractical, a waste really, from his point of view.”

 

Thorin seemed to darken somehow and Kili and Fili engaged in one of their infuriating silent conversations before both slipping off the bed and towards the door.

 

“We'll get you some food, Bilbo, and a cup of tea. Oin says you need to start small so that you don't set your recovery back.”

 

Bilbo sighed, thinking longingly of cinnamon buns and his favourite brandy snaps. The brothers laughed quietly as they left the room, but shot him reassuring looks over their shoulder. It reminded Bilbo that he was now alone in his bedroom with Thorin. His body tingled in a way entirely unrelated to his sickness, what was wrong with him?, and he quickly started babbling to make up for it.

 

“Forget I asked if it was too intrusive a question, please.”

 

Thorin shook his head. “You’ve done a lot for us; it seems fair that you wish to know why we take so many precautions. Smaug knows that we’re still trying to get Erebor back so he’s made it clear when he catches any of us trying, we will be _dealt with_.”

 

Bilbo shivered, his mind filled with the sort of chilling scenes from odd movies that were always on television. Thorin ventured closer and sat down carefully near Bilbo’s feet. Bilbo’s heart started beating wildly faster; he silently told it to behave itself.

 

He cleared his throat, hoping vainly that he wasn’t blushing. “But wouldn’t ‘dealing’ with you draw attention to him? I mean, if it’s well known that he…um…acquired your land from your grandfather and there’s lot of paperwork about your efforts to get it back, then won’t he be the prime suspect?”

 

Thorin’s smile was thin and Bilbo could very clearly imagine all kinds of events that had created that expression. Thorin had a police record after all, and by the sound of it, a very trying life. Bilbo wanted to smooth out the wrinkle between Thorin’s eyes; he clenched the bedclothes fiercely in case his hands got any wild ideas.

 

“Smaug has many friends, inside and outside the police force, and friends in extremely important offices. We’re just a travelling family with loaded criminal records. Thanks to certain areas of the medi, travellers are widely reported to be violent and territorial so we’re bound to meet our makers sooner rather than later.”

 

Thorin sounded like he was repeating what somebody else had told him. Had Smaug said that to him? Bilbo bit his lip and wished very hard for a cup of tea. But Thorin’s problems continued to possess Bilbo’s brain. Thorin was trapped – life constantly on the road was clearly wearying and difficult, anyone could be working for Smaug, ready to report their location, ready to get them under lock and key or worse and therefore not a problem. Would Smaug ever take it as far as murder? Thorin and the rest of the Durins seemed to think he’d done so before and would do again.

 

“Smaug doesn’t like being outdone,” Thorin continued in the same too-measured tone. “It pleased him to obtain Erebor and then wrap my grandfather in redtape and choke him with it. He was sure that the rest of us would heed the warning and leave Erebor to him.”

 

Bilbo desperately wanted to reach out a hand, to touch Thorin’s sleeve, to comfort him in some way. But Thorin looked lost in desperate awful memories, his eyes glazed over, and his whole posture reeking of loss and grief. Bilbo wanted to say something but knew from his own experiences that no words could ever possibly help. He swallowed and stayed silent and tried to radiate understanding. He didn’t want Thorin to feel so alone.

 

Eventually Thorin raised his head again and looked at Bilbo, who smiled sadly at him. That seemed to say everything that was needed because Thorin relaxed a fraction and nodded slowly.

 

“I have a lot to thank you for, Bilbo Baggins, you've opened your home to my family more than once.”

 

Bilbo grimaced – he’d certainly regretted letting the travellers in on more than one occasion and he did wish that they didn’t tread so much mud into his carpet. But he had come to enjoy their company. They’d become friends in a way that many others in his life weren’t, without him understanding quite how.

 

“No thanks are necessary, really. I’m very sorry that my family have caused yours so much trouble.”

 

Thorin frowned. “You really believe the police raid was your cousin’s fault?”

 

Bilbo sighed, deep unhappy grooves appearing across his face. “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins married into my family with great aspirations. My mother never liked her, she always said that Lobelia looked down her nose at too many people and had her eyes on our best china. Lobelia has been trying for years to get my family to sell this place to her. My mother didn’t and I won’t either.”

 

Thorin shifted closer and Bilbo tried not to hold his breath. Thorin’s hand grazed Bilbo’s arm, a comforting gentle brush that made Bilbo’s heart skitter.

 

“That isn't family,” Thorin said softly.

 

“No,” agreed Bilbo. “She’s got her heart set on turning this pub into a high-end eatery to take advantage of Hobbiton's frequent tourists. And Lobelia usually gets what she wants. Maybe she’s finally gotten the money together for the changes she wants to make around here. All I know is, some of those policemen were off in their behaviour and you’re suffering because of my cousin and I’m really very sorry.”

 

It was the most Bilbo had said yet in Thorin’s presence and he felt dry and out of words by the end of it. He’d probably entirely lost Thorin’s interest with such a petty concern – after all Thorin had family land to regain and a truly terrifying-sounding enemy. Bilbo’s problems were so small by comparison.

 

But if anyone would understand, it would be Thorin.

 

Thorin’s hand rested on Bilbo’s arm. It felt like a lifeline, maybe for both of them.

 

Bilbo’s brain felt scrambled. What did you say in this kind of situation? Thorin probably wasn’t staying much longer anyway, not with Smaug likely circling and an ever-present itch under the Durins’ skin to keep on travelling. They deeply missed their home but they needed to keep moving too. Bilbo knew that.

 

Kili saved him having to fish for the right words, by yelling up the stairs. “Breakfast! Oin says you can come downstairs as long as you just sit, Bilbo.”

 

Thorin looked at Bilbo for a warm moment more, causing Bilbo to smile self-consciously. He felt rather disappointed when Thorin flowed easily to his feet, making the bed seem empty. But Bilbo tried not to focus on that and instead determinedly pushed the bedclothes aside to get to his feet. Thorin stood close, offering an arm for support, which made Bilbo’s knees feel inconveniently weak. His limbs felt shaky but he could stand without falling which was a relief. His head didn’t swim either so Bilbo let out a little sigh of relief and managed a step or two experimentally, Thorin a heated line of muscle at his side. Bilbo felt more than a little inclined to lean against him but Thorin’s voice interrupted such thoughts.

 

“You probably want fresh clothes…?”

 

There was the first hint of uncertainty that Bilbo had ever heard in Thorin’s voice. Bilbo gave him a quick once-over; Thorin’s clothes were a little frayed at the edges and smudged with dirt and oil. Then Bilbo realised that he himself was only wearing flannel pyjamas and that therefore somebody must have undressed him while he was unconscious. The flush through Bilbo's body felt painfully obvious and it clearly was.

 

“Oin,” Thorin supplied. “He said you needed to be as comfortable as possible.”

 

That made sense, and Oin was (had been?) a doctor after all. Bilbo tried to swallow down all the mortification he felt.

 

“Okay. Thank you. Could you please...?”

 

Thorin's eyebrows raised as he grasped Bilbo's meaning from his sparse handful of words. “Give you some privacy?”

 

He seemed almost amused at the idea but carefully let go of Bilbo and stepped out of the room. The Durins weren't precious with their privacy when they were together. Dwalin often sat with an arm curled possessively around Ori, while Dori and Nori shot Bilbo looks that clearly said _please protest about this_. But Ori looked happy enough and Bofur liked to sing the filthiest-sounding songs about his friends and family that revealed far too many personal details for Bilbo's liking. They might guard themselves against the outside world but they certainly let all guards down when it was just them. And Bilbo. A certain pleased sort of warmth thrummed through him at the thought of such inclusion.

 

Thorin was just outside his door. Bilbo let out a quiet groaning sigh, running fingers through his very unruly curls. He was sure he looked terrible after days spent in bed, what must Thorin think of him? Bilbo tried desperately not to focus on that and instead steadily managed to dress himself in neat trousers and a soft button-down shirt, sliding his feet into his favourite pair of slippers. There, he ran a comb through his hair fastidiously, this was definitely several steps above pyjamas.

 

Bilbo took a deep breath and managed to walk fairly steadily to the door, opening it to find Thorin waiting very close by on the other side. Thorin's eyes raked Bilbo quickly and thoroughly, making Bilbo feel almost electrified by the intent gaze. Honestly, he was being quite ridiculous.

 

The smell of food cooking was wonderful though and Bilbo's stomach growled.

 

Bilbo coloured and coughed out a laugh. “I believe I was promised breakfast?”

 

Thorin nodded and stayed resolutely at Bilbo's side for his every slow step. Bilbo was protesting that it wasn't necessary, that he was almost at the bannister anyway, when he paused. He'd reached an open door, which led to a room he rarely visited but that hadn't left his thoughts. He took a deep breath – there was the lingering note of his mother's favourite bluebell perfume and the comforting softness of his father's beloved pipe tobacco. Bilbo closed his eyes, his hand reaching out to touch the doorframe.

 

It felt as though the moment hovered forever – Bilbo poised to step into the room but also unable to do so; even if Kili and Fili had tidied up, they wouldn't have known how to make everything absolutely right in this particular room. Thorin didn't say a word but stayed exactly where he was, close to Bilbo's side. Bilbo savoured the contact before opening his eyes, frantically blinking away tears.

 

“My parents' room,” he explained quietly, not looking at Thorin.

 

Thorin nodded and waited until Bilbo was ready to move past towards the staircase. Each footstep felt heavy and Bilbo was glad of Thorin's strong presence at his side. By the time he was downstairs and had reached the bar, he felt very ready to sit down. His pub was full of Durins, who cheered when they saw him. He smiled, he couldn't help it, the room looked almost as good as new. They really had done an unbelievable job. He pressed a little more into Thorin, transmitting his gratefulness.

 

Kili popped up on his other side, Fili close behind. “We've got a seat all ready for you.”

 

Bilbo smiled. “I might make a whole shepherd's pie just for you, Kili.”

 

Kili's face split into a grin. He and Fili guided him to one of the more comfortable chairs, which sat by a table loaded with breakfast. Thorin, surprisingly, chose to sit next to Bilbo, causing what Bilbo was sure were smirks and nudges amongst his family group. Bilbo concentrated hard on the plate set before him; that he could focus on quite coherently.

 

Bombur appeared with a large cup of tea, in Bilbo's favourite cup. “I think I've got it just right, Mr Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo breathed in the delicious tea fumes and gratefully accepted the cup and saucer. “Nothing would make me feel better. Thank you, Bombur, and Oin, for all your help.”

 

Oin lifted his glass in acknowledgement and Bombur smiled happily. “Lots of people have been asking about you, they want to know how you are and if the police are coming back. You've made quite a profit over the past few days.”

 

That was another weight off Bilbo's mind. He smiled gratefully. “Something else I have to thank you for, Bombur.”

 

Bombur smiled, pleased. “Ah, it was a small thing, Mr Bilbo. I was glad to do it.”

 

The Durins really did overflow with kindness, and Bilbo was sure that they didn't usually have that attitude towards outsiders. He really had earned their trust and friendship and he wasn't sure he deserved it. So he thanked Bombur again and began tucking into his fried breakfast, it was exactly what he needed. Oin cautioned him to eat slowly, so that he wouldn't feel sick all over again, and while Bilbo would have laid a hefty bet that he'd have to fight Kili and Fili from stealing his breakfast, it was Thorin who reached over and snagged a crispy piece of bacon.

 

Bilbo waved a fork at him. “That's a very dangerous thing to do to a Baggins. You're very lucky I'm not quite myself at the moment.”

 

A too-attractive smirk started small amid Thorin's beard. “I would still take my chances even if you were at full strength.”

 

“And you would probably regret it.”

 

Thorin's smirk grew even more and his eyes smouldered most distractingly. Bilbo could scarcely believe he was having such a conversation with Thorin, a man he'd spent far too much time wondering about. But there was Thorin, close enough that Bilbo could feel his distracting body heat, and impudently stealing food from a Baggins' plate too. Belladonna would have rapped his knuckles with her knife, no matter how much bigger than her he was. Bilbo smiled soft and sad, he wondered if his mother had ever met Thorin.

 

Before he could ask, there was a tremendous clatter at the door and it was thrown open to herald the arrival of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, shortly before her own loud voice did.

 

“Bilbo! What's this I hear about the police surrounding our family's property last night?”

 

She looked as carefully put together as always, in a beautifully smart purple floral-print dress and wedge-heeled shoes that gave her the height she naturally lacked and always strove for. Her thick blonde hair was stylishly pulled back from her face, which was currently displaying a look of shock and disbelief too rampant to be entirely honest. Bilbo had learned to read Lobelia years ago, at his mother's insistence. He thought longingly of the broom stored in the kitchen. However, he brightened as a very Tookish thought occurred to him, probably due to his tired ill state; he had Durins right here and they were sure to get rid of Lobelia much quicker than any cleaning implement, even his mother's broom.

 

Lobelia didn't look entirely shocked to see the room full of travellers, though her mouth tightened as she observed them. Bilbo could imagine her exact thoughts; he was ashamed to say that his own thoughts had once been rather too similar.

 

“Lobelia, you didn't have to come all this way. You could have called,” he opened with, his knife and fork still working at the plate in front him, refusing to abandon his breakfast quite yet.

 

He noticed most of the room's occupants stiffened at Lobelia's name. He wondered if she’d noticed too.

 

“I had to see for myself. I heard that the whole place was in ruins!”

 

“Heard, or hoped?” put in Dwalin, Ori sat on his lap and looking rather fierce with a knitting needle clenched in one hand.

 

Lobelia didn’t even tense slightly at the accusation but kept her focus on Bilbo, as though ignoring the room’s other occupants would actually cause them to disappear. Bilbo ate a lonely scrap of bacon before Thorin got any ideas. He noticed Thorin’s lips twitch in response.

 

“As you can see, everything’s looking quite lovely,” he said at last, picking up a last piece of toast. “And the police assured me they’d made a mistake.”

 

“An understandable one, considering the sort of company you’ve been keeping.”

 

Bilbo paused. Beside him, Thorin was bristling in a way that suggested a feral cat about to spring, an action that the others were likely considering too. Bilbo felt rather bristly himself. He called on all of his Baggins’ blood to keep him calm and mild though. He just about resisted resting a hand on Thorin’s arm, what right did he have to do that anyway?

 

“I’ve had no complaints,” he replied calmly. “And people around here do not keep their opinions to themselves. In fact, it was thanks to the company I keep that the pub’s still in one piece and running so well. So no, I don’t think it’s understandable.”

 

Lobelia’s nostrils flared – always a dangerous sign. Bilbo crunched on his toast and braced himself. Thorin’s arm grazed his.

 

“Really, Bilbo, you must think about the reputation you’re giving the family – travellers, police, everything in complete disarray. It would upset your father…”

 

Bilbo dropped his cutlery abruptly and felt a thick swell of Tookish fury and abject pain. That had always been Lobelia’s problem; the angrier she got, the more she tended to fall into blunt brutal button-pushing that could end badly for her. Bilbo caught sight of Gloin and Balin preventing Fili and Kili from saying anything, thank goodness.

 

“If you’d visited us more often without a sales pitch, you’d know that my father always enjoyed the company of travellers, as did my mother. And I won’t be selling the Welcome, thank you, Lobelia.”

 

There was a firmness and a steel in his voice that caused Lobelia to close her mouth slowly and stare at him for a tense and silent few moments. Bilbo wondered what she saw – did she see a tired man, bolstered by the company he was now keeping? Or did she see an old fool that could be brought down by his new friends? Bilbo only knew one thing, he was a Took and a Baggins and he knew his own mind. He also knew how every such conversation should be concluded.

 

“Now, would you like to join me for my second cup of the day?”

 

Lobelia pressed her lips together and her gaze swept the room calculatingly. Finally she shook her head. Her eye make-up was smeared at the edges, Bilbo noticed.

 

“I have an appointment elsewhere. I just wanted see how you were coping. Do call me when you come to your senses.”

 

“Goodbye, Lobelia. Love to all the family.”

 

Bilbo smiled benignly as she turned sharply on her heel. He could tell how infuriated she was by the set of her shoulders. The Durins were humming with tension, even after she let the door swing smartly shut behind her, but Bilbo let out a relieved heavy sigh and thanked God for giving him as much Baggins temperament as Took.

 

He managed a smile towards Bombur. “I think I’d like that second cup of tea now, please.”

 

“You weren’t lying about her,” the words burst out of Kili, as though he’d been keeping them back for too long. “She can’t be related to you, at all.”

 

“By marriage only,” Bilbo confirmed. “She and my mother loathed each other. She hasn’t been here on a social visit since my mom threatened to get a restraining order after Lobelia’s constant badgering about selling the Welcome. Until my mom’s death, she communicated strictly by letter.”

 

“She assumed you’d be easier to crack,” Thorin surmised, his voice strung tight with tension.

 

Bilbo waited until Bombur had finished pouring his tea and took a grateful mouthful before answering. “I think so. I’ve had Gorbadoc take a look at my legal documents, just in case. He’s a very good lawyer and family by blood, he’s assured me that the only way Lobelia can get this pub is if I sell it to her.”

 

The Durins muttered among themselves and went back to finishing their own breakfasts as Bilbo snuck another look at Thorin. He looked pretty furious still, thrumming with barely-withheld anger. It was overwhelming to know that he was in that state on Bilbo’s behalf, but he couldn’t fester like that all day. Bilbo had the alarming feeling that if Thorin got suitably riled, he’d do something pretty alarming to Lobelia. He hesitantly reached and pressed a hand to Thorin’s arm.

 

“She’s my family.”

 

Thorin nodded jerkily. “Then she shouldn’t try and take what’s rightfully yours.”

 

“All she can do is keep trying. I’ve had it written into my will that Primula’ll get the Welcome.”

 

“Primula?”

 

“Gorbadoc’s daughter. She’s getting married soon and she was brought up in a pub like this one, so she knows how to handle it properly.”

 

“I thought you said Gorbadoc’s a lawyer?”

 

“He is, his family also runs a pub. There’s a lot of pub landlords in the Brandybuck line; they’re very good at it. My dad said that they’ve always welcomed travellers too.”

 

Thorin seemed to relax a little. “But there’s no way to stop your cousin from harassing you for good.”

 

“None at all. She knows she’s locked out of this pub’s future unless she somehow persuades me to sell it to her, so she all she can do is keep trying.”

 

Thorin looked at him almost with incomprehension. “So you know you’re engaged in an endless fight with her.”

 

Bilbo shrugged. That was a bit dramatic, but a fair assessment considering Lobelia’s recent actions. “I haven’t really been fighting back, mostly keeping silent and saying ‘no’ when pushed. I’m not as Tookish as my mother, I’m afraid.”

 

“You’ve done nothing wrong that I can see.”

 

Thorin’s voice was quiet, causing Bilbo to look at him and notice that his hand was still resting on Thorin’s arm. Oh. Thorin noticed too and moved his arm so that Bilbo’s hand slid down to rest near Thorin’s fingers. Bilbo swallowed and let his fingers dance a little on Thorin’s skin. Thorin caught his fingers quickly and squeezed them with a gentleness that made Bilbo’s breath catch. Thorin held his gaze.

 

Bilbo didn’t have words for it, for the feeling that hummed between them. He certainly hadn't expected it, this sort of _strength_ , but it had been there, in some low quiet capacity ever since he’d heard Balin’s first Thorin story, since he’d woken up and Thorin had say his name. It was very welcome, and it was terrifying.

 

Because there was something that had been tumbling around Bilbo’s mind since the police had arrived on his doorstep. He gave it voice now.

 

“You’ll be leaving soon?”

 

Thorin let out a breath and nodded. He didn’t let go of Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo could see the familiar hammer tattoo on Thorin’s neck and collarbone. He wondered what the ink would feel like under his fingers. Ruthlessly, he squashed such curiosity.

 

“It was too much of a risk to stay this long anyway.”

 

Bilbo nodded at Thorin’s words. Whatever lay between them, keeping the Durins out of Smaug’s, and Lobelia’s, reach was much more important. It didn’t matter how disappointed that thought made Bilbo, or the sharp sort of pain it gave him in his chest. It didn’t matter at all.

 

“You’re welcome to visit again.”

 

_Please visit again._

 

Thorin’s gaze felt scorching on Bilbo’s skin and he nodded quite definitely. Bilbo’s relief was probably far too obvious. After all, this was just an insanely instant attraction. By the time Thorin visited again, who was to say it would still be there? Bilbo thought about the stories he’d heard of Thorin, the stories that had so piqued his interest. Had Thorin heard stories about him from the Durins? Was that where it had started for Thorin too?

 

They stayed where they were, silent and linked, until Dwalin started making noises about leaving. He didn't sound thrilled about it himself, but the look he exchanged with Thorin spoke volumes. They _had_ to leave.

 

Bombur told Bilbo that the pub staff were keeping to the rota and that they'd agreed to take turns doing his duties until he was up to full strength again. Oin warned him to rest as much as possible and 'don't go gadding about, getting into trouble.' Bofur claimed he was making up a new song focusing on Bilbo's heroics.

 

Kili and Fili wrapped an arm each around him.

 

“Thanks, Uncle,” Fili smiled faintly. “For your quick thinking and courage so great it made you ill.”

 

“Saved our hides,” agreed Kili. “I'm holding you to that shepherd's pie.”

 

They squeezed him between them and then let go, grabbing a large backpack each. Bilbo wondered what sort of condition his back field would be in once they'd gone. He knew that the brothers rode motorbikes and that Bifur had some sort of camper van.

 

The Durins all said their goodbyes and headed for the back door, no doubt to pack away their last bits and pieces and to start revving engines. Thorin stayed behind, and stayed close to Bilbo. The loaded silence made Bilbo's skin prickle.

 

“I...”

 

“My family haven't stopped telling stories about you since the first time you cooked for them,” Thorin interrupted. “I thought they were far too easily bought.”

 

Bilbo laughed quietly. “Maybe Kili is...”

 

Thorin shook his head. “The things you've done for my family...nobody has been so selfless on our behalf, no one outside the clan.”

 

Bilbo swallowed and managed a small nod. There were so many words jumbling in his head and he was afraid to open his mouth in case the wrong ones jumped out. Thorin made the decision for him, grasping Bilbo's hands, causing Bilbo’s breath to hitch. Thorin's small sly smile appeared again, just before he brushed his lips against the soft skin of Bilbo's wrists. Bilbo hardly dared to breathe; in case it turned out that he was still upstair and dreaming. That would explain a great deal.

 

Thorin locked his gaze on Bilbo's face. “Stay safe, Mr Baggins.”

 

“You...you too.”

 

Bilbo's hand stroked against the ones that held it, causing Thorin's smile to widen a fraction. A car horn honked from the back field though and Thorin reluctantly let go. Bilbo's stomach felt as though it had dropped to his feet, Thorin looked as though he shared a similar feeling.

 

Before Thorin could turn away, Bilbo lurched forward and, before his courage failed him, kissed Thorin’s cheek. When he pulled back, Thorin gazed at him with uncurled heat. Bilbo could feel his ears turning pink.

 

“One for the road,” he suggested, his voice more or less staying steady.

 

It had been a ridiculous Tookish gesture, but he’d had to do something in reply to the kisses he’d received. He’d wanted so much to reply in kind. Thorin cupped his face briefly with a weather-beaten hand, his eyes on Bilbo as though trying to take in every detail.

 

“I hope to settle our debt soon.”

 

His thumb meaningfully slid across Bilbo’s lips, then Thorin was gone, pulling a battered leather jacket on as he strode out of the back door. Bilbo didn’t watch their convoy leave, he couldn’t.

 

He sat and stared into the fire, the skin of his wrists itching, until his staff for the day turned up. Those who’d mysteriously taken time off on that terrible day still hadn’t returned to work. Once Bilbo could walk for longer than five minutes without needing a rest stop he’d visit them one by one, to find out what was really going on.

 

He rubbed disbelieving fingers against his wrist, his expression awed as his staff worked skilfully around him, updating him on what had happened in the pub while he’d been absent. They urged him to rest and take it easy, but Bilbo carefully made his way back into his little downstairs office. Everything looked fairly respectable. He sat down heavily and began looking through his books, seeing that Bombur was right, he had made a tidy little profit recently.

 

He should probably warn Gorbadoc that Lobelia might be on the warpath and heading straight for him. When he thumbed through his mobile phone's contact list, he realised that someone had input all of the Durin's numbers, under carefully assumed names of course. But Bilbo recognised them – Bo was Bofur, Hack was Bifur, Doc was Oin. He had the sudden urge to find out what Thorin had named himself. His wrists throbbed.

 

He quickly called Gorbadoc, who seemed to be in a sawmill by all the background noise.

 

“Oh no, we're just getting our stables repaired. Lumps kicked his way out of a stall the other night, terrible mess.”

 

Bilbo hmmmed. Gorbadoc's pub – _The Upset Applecart_ – had had stables attached for years, very useful when travellers dropped by apparently. Bilbo was doubly-glad that he'd named Primula as the heir to his pub.

 

“Lobelia came calling and I thought I'd better warn you,” he relayed. “There's been some trouble here lately and she’s been even keener that usual on taking the Welcome off my hands.”

 

“The sort of trouble that you think she's orchestrated,” Gorbadoc concluded, ever the shrewd lawyer. “But I'm guessing it's nothing you can pin on her.”

 

Bilbo sighed an agreement. “I've had travellers staying recently and someone tried to get them into trouble, probably to horrify me and my customers. It was a very nasty business.”

 

“That sounds like Lobelia. Good to hear you're opening your doors to travellers again.”

 

“Yes...” Bilbo trailed off, an odd sort of hope flaring up in him as an idea coalesced. “I don't suppose you could look into something for me, I mean, someone's legal situation?”

 

“I don't see why not. What's the cause?”

 

Bilbo hesitated only a fraction. Gorbadoc was the definition of ‘traveller friendly’ and was the least likely person to start blabbing the Durins' name, to anyone. “A traveller family, the Durins. They used to own a bit of land, Erebor, it was their home base when they weren't on the road. Then someone managed to gain wnership of it, there were some apparently suspicious deaths and they've been trying to get the land back ever since.”

 

There was a heavy sort of pause. “I think I know that case. It's not unusual sadly, people think that since travellers spend most of the year on the road, a home’s wasted on them so somebody else ought to have it.”

 

“But travellers need a home to come back to,” Bilbo finished quietly.

 

“Your mother thought the same thing. I'll look into it, Bilbo, nice and secret-like. From what you're not telling me, this new owner's on the look-out for them?”

 

Bilbo's heart squeezed. “That's what they’ve told me. According to them, he's got friends everywhere and quite a bit of influence.”

 

“Most people do compared to travellers, at least when it comes to leverage and the law. Not a problem, Bilbo, everything here's locked up tighter than a drum. Nothing can be taken from me without hefty permission.”

 

Bilbo thanked him and Gorbadoc promised to call soon with news and that he'd also keep an eye out for any activities by a vengeful Lobelia. Bilbo stroked a wrist and decided he'd sit in the pub's main room for a while, maybe talk to any friendly customers that trickled in, to reassure them that he was fine. It was the perfect time for another cup of tea and a slice of cake, and if he partook of them while under the watchful wooden eyes of a certain figurine set up on the mantel, one of a collection that felt like a statement and lingering promise both, who was to know?

 

_-the end_

 


End file.
